The granary smelled like dried corn and wheat, even after all shipments had been made. Grain Rye was keen to get his products out of Bovinus' harbors before rumors of his haunted property began to ruin the price of his grain.
But among the smell of preserved foodstuff was the scent of bile. Fiora shuddered at what kind of health violations Grain Rye was guilty of, rethinking her plan to have a bowl of oats later at the Golden Hills.
Fiora found the source of the scent in the corner of the granary. With crooked teeth and scrawny limbs, the mare looked like a worker hired to move the grain. Dark circles around the eyes and pale complexion gave away signs of sickness. Such was the plight of ponies who couldn't afford not to work. Even in poor health, no work meant no coin, meaning no food for her and her family.
Fiora reached into her saddlebag and unscrewed a bottle of night silver dust. She sprinkled the dust over the head of the corpse and watched as it scattered away from the head. She was sick, but died from something magical. The night silver wouldn't even touch the bile she had wretched onto the flattened dirt ground. Fiora didn't have to look too closely to see specter residue mixed in her bile--nor did she want to.
The client was right to guess an Ankho. It was a specter that stole away the memories and personality of the last to die in winter, just to continue killing those destined to die throughout the rest of the year. But why in the city? They enjoyed rural villages with manageable populations. Bovinus was a small city, but excellent commerce packed it with ponies and bovines alike.
She searched the rest of the mare's body for a pure sample of the Ankho's essence. Something traceable by nose, and not overpowered by bile. She didn't find any, but there was a note.
If you're reading this, that means that peasant actually followed orders for once. I swear, she can't sweep the floors right even if you showed her. Anyways, the equipment you ordered should be coming with the grain. I know we agreed to regular shipments before the war hits hard, but the King has us in a bind. I'll update you when the next shipment arrives, whenever that is.
It wasn't signed, but marked by the wax seal of Bovinus. "Might be something," Fiora whispered, tucking it away in a pocket of her new dragon scale armor.
The sun was about to set. It would be dark within the hour, and if the granary really was haunted by an Ankho, it was bound to appear tonight to take the lives of the sick and dying.
Fiora sensed it forming on the other end of the granary. Magic in the air felt like static, coalescing into a gaseous, and then solid form. It was like staring at the full moon. The Ankho's pale white visage shimmered as it stared, looking like a mummified pony with elongated legs.
Neither could be sure who twitched first, but some signal triggered their instincts to fight. Though a specter, it swung a solid heavy chain that wrapped around his hooves. The chain wrapped around Fiora's sword, and she was forced to blast it with magic to regain control.
She rolled away from another swing. Even with her armor, the force of the chain would be enough to knock her down. She realized as they traded a few more blows that she had grown too reliant on her old sword. She forged it with high amounts of night silver, and it had always acted like a shield against magic.
Her blade screeched as she threw a cut to interrupt the Ankho's chain. She could tell by how it flashed when it struck her sword that the chain had magic. But her new weapon only had night silver forged into the edges. She had grown used to night silver running through her entire blade, denying magic with explosive force. She could have shattered the chain with her old sword, but it also made her relaxed in her technique.
She tossed a clay pot filled with night silver shards, and they exploded upward against the Ankho's magical body. With nowhere to go, the monster's magic was forced inward and condensed. Fiora cut. With its essence thickened the spectral monster was as corporeal as flesh and blood.
It howled at the gash, but there was little it could do, surrounded by night silver. Its essence tore apart in an attempt to heal the wound, bursting specter essence across the entire granary. She exhaled, sheathing her sword and looking at her work. The confines of the granary had slowed the Ankho's chains, and forced it to stay inside the range of the night silver. She doubted the contract would've been so easy if they had clashed in the open field of a farm. Fiora stepped outside, taking a breath of fresh air that wasn't covered in corn or magical residue.
"Hope there isn't a clean up fee." She returned to the monster and swept up its essence, proof of the monster's death and a handy ingredient for potions.
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"Who's this?" Fiora dropped the note she found on the worker's corpse on the counter. Island Hopper had changed his form to a plumper, round-faced bartender. She only found him because he let some of his magic slip, vibrating her sword when he was near. Otherwise, his polymorphism was perfect, invisible even to pure night silver.
"Where'd you get this?" He set wiped a glass clean and scrutinized the paper.
"Picked it off a mare who worked for Grain Rye," she answered, "but since most working ponies can't read, I figure someone else wrote it."
"You figure right." He pointed to the seal. "The city council uses purple wax, not black. This is the mark of Karam Bit's organization. I didn't know Grain Rye was in league with them."
"Know him well?" Fiora took back the paper and folded it up into her saddlebag, now one gold plate heavier for completing one the contracts. Fiora knew Island Hopper had his personal conflict with Stranglethorn, but the bottom line was that she was paying good money, and the other contracts involved monsters who could still harm innocents.
Island Hopper grabbed a used mug and tossed it in a bucket of water behind him. "Yeah, but my opinion of him just went, like that mug. We've talked a few times since sailors who export his grain rest at my inns. I give his employees a discount on bed and wine, which makes his company the one with better benefits. In return, I get first pick from his fruit farms for my breweries."
"Didn't ask about your business decisions, just wanted to know what you knew about him," Fiora said. She didn't understand why ponies, or vampires in this case, had to boast about their work. She didn't go around spouting facts on demons and athahcks.
"I was getting to that," he grumbled. "The King of Thieves, as the name suggests, is not a stallion of honest means. Grain Rye might not own the most farmland or trade with the biggest cities, but folk work for him because he was born a farm colt too. Honest work is all he knows."
"Ever heard the joke 'why'd the cockatrice cross the road?'" She had more gold than she had ever carried and steady work in a wealthy city. There was plenty of time for a joke.
"I've heard variations going back centuries," Island Hopper asked, his face looking at Fiora confused. "What of it?"
"Hunter's version's a bit different. 'Why'd the cockatrice cross the road? Because the side it was on was fucking shit."' She waited for him to figure out what she was getting at, but he still looked at her like a madmare.
"What I'm saying is that Grain Rye could have gone to work with Karam out of necessity," she told him, pointing to a bruise on her neck where the Ankho had hit her with its chain. "Had a monster in his granary. Business might have been going down, and he needed a way to keep it up. In any case, you shouldn't turn on a pony as good as you say. There's few of them in this world."
Island Hopper let his anger go. "Fine, but I'll keep an eye on some of his holdings. Whatever he's shipping with his grain, if the King of Thieves is involved it has to be no good."
"Not my business. Not going to get in your way." Fiora finally decided to give in and led herself to a few bottles of Northern Winter Vodka.
Tonight had a song performed by Loralae alone, not that she needed anyone else. Nixes were revolted by violence, preferring to let their magic voices misdirect aggressors. But on the stage, Loralae could cast her voice any which way and hit every audible note.
She couldn't make out a word of this song, but Loralae's rhythm and tone reminded Fiora the life she once led, the peaceful one. She had met Ripe Apple after saving his family from a dragon, and after some time, he grew attached. It wasn't his family's successful farm or his looks that made life great, even if there was nothing to complain about in those departments.
He had kindness in spades, and it was no wonder why their children loved him more than her. She was raised by monster hunters, caretaker and trainer were the same to her. He was raised by farmers who understood the plight of never having enough to be happy, but he also sympathized with the stresses of the wealthy after orchards became a renowned winery.
Some sound outside caught her ear. Island Hopper must have noticed too, but he was so enthralled in his lover's voice he barely noticed.
"Eight heavy hooves are racing this way," she snapped him out of his staring.
He smirked. "City kids are always racing. Must be some noble brats trying to prove something."
"Doubt it." She honed her ears and this time and so did Island Hopper. Young nobles didn't race in clanking armor.
Three clamored into the inn, covered in scratched armor and worn leather straps. Blood stained the crinket of one pony, the steel plates that shielded the back of the neck. Another's peytral was ripped, exposing his chest. Fiora almost couldn't recognize her friend and her master under their damaged armor, or that one of their saddles held a little filly with a hummingbird mark on her shoulder.
"Sharp Tone, Ploja, what are you two doing here?"
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They sat quietly, tending to their wounds first and eating before talking. Island Hopper took them to the back of the inn where he stored some of the stronger alcohols to help with the pain. Geiss sat quietly, watching Fiora stitch up a gash in Sharp Tone's shoulder.
"Are days always this boring for hunters?" Island Hopper asked while they recovered. "Just sitting around, all solemn. I get it, things look bad, but not a word? Come on."
"Where'd you find this one?" Sharp Tone scowled as the needle and thread prodded at his sensitive wound.
Fiora steadied her magic, trying hard to ignore the inevitable banter between a talkative hunter and a vampire poet. "I agreed to help him, to an extent," was all she would give.
But Island Hopper filled the gaps quickly. "I was framed for murder because I'm a vampire and a rival to a very vindictive circle of criminals. Your friend has a good heart and chose to help me," he explained and then added, "to an extent of course."
Sharp Tone looked at Fiora with disbelief written all over his face. "You really trust a vampire?"
"Her judgement has never been wrong, for the most part," Ploja said, muttering that last half. "Besides, he welcomed us into his inn when he could have easily denied two mutants. I'll take his word for now."
"All I want to do is know why all three of you are here." Fiora finished stitching Sharp Tone's gash and fed him a sip of a healing potion. It was mostly medicine from Stranglethorn's associates, enhanced with liver and egg yolk of a monstrous bird, a roc.
"I had just got to Bach Kha'mohrgen when Ploja demanded I go out and search for you," Sharp Tone began. "Your trail wasn't hard to find once I found the corpse eaters you killed. I followed, and found a lord's fortress devoid of anything but bodies. Thought it was you for a moment until I saw the trampled ground where an army had marched."
Ploja continued. "That's probably around the time the army that left behind their tracks reached out walls. The commander demanded we surrender the hunter who torched his fortress. We didn't know if it was you or Sharp Tone then, but either way we refused."
"And then boom!" added Geiss, eager to be a part of the story. "Big fire balls were everywhere and destroyed everything."
Shocked, Fiora turned her head to Ploja for clarification. But he just nodded. "That's pretty much the gist of it. We held them off for a good time, reinforcing the damaged walls with magic, but they surrounded us with siege weapons. Catapults, trebuchets, and fire barrels. You can be sure Cyana had a lot to say about her research being damaged. Put up one hell of a fight before she and her library went through a portal."
"But," Sharp Tone said sadly, taking Fiora's attention. "When I got back there the walls had been burned by oil barrels. Not even magic could put it out. Holes were blown into the walls, the troops had stormed in, and most of the hunters had ran. Bastards barely even called the castle a home, and they wouldn't die for it like we would have."
"It's a damn good thing I'm one of those bastards then," Ploja snapped at Sharp Tone. "I ran like a behemoth was after me and got your hide out of there. You and Geiss both."
He turned looked back to Fiora, and beckoned her to pass him a bottle of Bovinus Spice Spirit. He emptied half of it before continuing. "With Bach Kha'mohrgen gone the only thing we knew to look was for you. We figured you escaped the fort, so we stuck to the countryside and followed the rumors of a purple monster hunter."
Fiora took a step back, soaking it all in. She had lost one home to war, and now Bach Kha'morhgen was occupied too. She wondered if it was true what ponies said, that hunters were meant to walk on a path, never settling. She had to turn her thoughts inward.
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The intentions we have and the wars we fight are often never the same. Long ago, when ponies first began to build walls and name lords, safety justified violence. The need to be right soon made every lord, king and soldier believe their war was just.
When I chose to rescue Thesa Ruse, I never could have imagined that the commander turned warlord would take up arms against the mutants of Bach Kha'morhgen. Nor could I have known that he would succeed in taking the hunter stronghold. But in times like these, good or bad intentions don't matter. War always comes.
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"What do you plan on doing now?" Fiora asked them both.
Sharp Tone stood up, wincing at his sprained leg. "Work, get some gold, then round up as many mercenaries as I can to take back the castle."
"Now hold on a minute kid," Ploja pulled and seated him back down. "We lost our stronghold, true, but hunters never stay at their fortresses longer than they need to. Cyana took the library with her when she left, and I plan on finding that firebrand before she does something stupid like you plan too."
Fiora lifted her heavy head and noticed how quiet Island Hopper was. "Got any ancient vampire wisdom to share?"
He shrugged. "I've ran from homes too. Lost loved ones, sometimes even had to kill them myself. But you can't just run and hide as I do, or go on the road of revenge. War between the kingdoms is spreading, and the High Mountain King seems to be on a path to make himself an emperor, so you can be sure there'll be work for your kind. Monsters are always drawn to blood."
"Good choice of words, vampire," mocked Sharp Tone. "But if you haven't noticed, we're not really in the mood to help any pony right now."
And then Fiora remembered something Thesa had told her. "The commander belonged to a minor lord. They didn't have the money or craftsponies to make good siege weapons."
"Well obviously that changed," said Island Hopper.
She stood up straight and took her turn to give her side of the story to Sharp Tone and Ploja. "I saved the daughter of the lord, that's why I had to torch their keep, to escape in the distraction. She told me that the High Mountain Kingdom was funding Commander Crosscut to lead his coup."
Sharp Tone scowled and slammed his hoof on a barrel of wine, and Island Hopper stared hoping the barrel wouldn't break. Sharp stared at the cracked wood where his hoof struck and eased his anger. "This is fucked. The High Mountain Kingdom? They're not going to let go of a fortress like Bach Kha'morhgen."
"It wasn't made to resist a siege from an army," added Ploja. "Though I doubt that'd be hard to change for a kingdom like the High Mountain."
"Well, I know this place isn't a castle," Island Hopper offered, "but Fiora's an acquaintance, and one who spared my life for justice. I'll have a room made available for you all, for as long as you need."
Geiss beamed at him. "So you own this whole place? You're really rich."
He smiled and knelt down to her. "It's not always a good burden to bear. But helping gives me strength to carry it."
He combed her mane out of her face and noticed her neck. There was black leather collar with night silver studs across it. He touched it, and both of then flinched at its painful touch.
"Careful," cautioned Ploja. "She doesn't look it, but one of our hunters, Cyana, found something weird with her magic. It's something of a curse, we think, and it's been getting more and more out of control lately."
"More?" Fiora asked.
Ploja nodded. "Damn near broke Cyana's horn with how much magic she's carrying."
"Looks painful," Island Hopper commented grimly.
Geiss tugged at the collar so it rested comfortably on her neck. "Sometimes it gets tight or weird and the metal burns. But only a little."
"Black platinum can absorb the magic instead of repelling it," he told her, but was clearly advising every pony else in the room.
Both Ploja and Sharp Tone looked at each other, and then were shocked to see Fiora didn't share the same perplexed look.
"No pony remembers how to create black platinum anymore," Ploja told him.
Island Hopper shrugged. "I'm not a pony. It'll take time, but I can make something that'll keep her magic in better control. Doesn't that sound nice?"
Geiss smiled and nodded at him while the others weren't so sure. Fiora had seen the weapons he had made from black platinum, but she still wasn't sure if storing that much magic was a good idea. But the other option meant keeping the night silver collar and keeping Geiss in pain. She missed in the past few weeks of leaving Bach Kha'mohrgen to escort Thesa. She owed some good to the filly she took from that haunted house.
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Fiora brought Geiss with her to meet with Thesa. A bull stopped by the morning after they arrived with a letter from the young noblemare, asking to see her outside of the city, in a house overlooking a series of watermills owned by her aunt. The watermills powered workshops that spun cotton and ground wheat into flour.
Geiss balanced on the fence that bordered both sides of the cobblestone road. Fiora took some pride in seeing the hoof work, knowing she had shown her the series of movements she was performing. A lot of the hunters at Bach Kha'mohrgen showed Geiss tricks with the blade, but the fundamentals were all from Fiora.
The house Thesa mentioned came up along the horizon with the river. It was big, painted white with two stories and ample floor space. Surrounding it a row of buildings, some large and some small, all powered by watermills. Among the workers were a few ponies, but the majority seemed to be cows and bulls tasks with harvesting and hauling produce.
The house inside was surprisingly cramped with boxes of produce--food, bolts of cloth, crank bows and arrows, herbs and medicine, and so on. It was a shop centered in the series of watermills.
"It's about time you showed," Thesa cried out from her living room as Fiora and Geiss entered the house. She looked different. Her long, noble mane was cut short and she wore an apron like a housekeeper. The scar on her cheek where she had been branded was covered up in heavy makeup.
"Trying out a new look?" Fiora asked. She whispered to Geiss to continue practicing on the porch while the two of them spoke.
"Spare me the small talk hunter, I'm not in the mood." Thesa stood up from her couch and pushed a couple crates of produce out of the way for Fiora to enter.
Fiora looked at her and gestured around the house. "A bit homely for a store."
The noblemare rolled her eyes and opened a door that lead down a short hallway. "The shop's on the other side, separate from my private life."
"Sounds like you hate the outside world," Fiora noted, striking a nerve with her.
Thesa stomped her hoof. "What do you expect? Do you think I'll turn the other cheek and forgive what they did to my family, what they did to me?"
"No, but I think you're taking it out on the wrong ponies," Fiora rebutted. "Since you got here, you've hated being surrounded by laborers."
Thesa's face soured. "You know what's it's like, to be hated and spat on everywhere you go. Should I have sympathy for folk with no love in their hearts just because they value hard work? True, they are tools of society, but that's what we need them to be. No farmer or stonemason will fund the construction of a city, or forge alliances. And because they cannot understand how to run a society, they cannot understand those who run it."
"Maybe because nobles don't starve every winter or die in every war," Fiora tried reminding Thesa, but she wouldn't have any of it.
"No, lords simply worry about assassins, resources, and keeping uprisings controlled. Perhaps with time I can pity the masses. But never, so long as I live, will I agree to the mob rule that has has my home now."
Fiora pulled herself out of the argument. There was no winning when both stood in a grey area, and it was at least true that she understood hatred from ponies around her.
"Fine," she relented, "I'm guessing you didn't ask me to come here to debate class division."
"No." Thesa confirmed.
"I can handle supervising my aunt's businesses here," she said. "The river has a nice view and profits are constant year-round from what I hear." Fiora waited some time for her to continue speaking, but the young mare took a moment to collect herself.
"But there's something I need you to do," Thesa broke her tone into a quicker pace. "I know you have contracts to take care of, but my aunt wants me to hire extra security for a grain shipment to the Tundra. Times are hard with the wars, so she wants extra protection."
"I'm not a mercenary or a guard," answered Fiora.
Thesa rubbed her temple. "I know, but I don't have time weigh the costs of the mercenary companies in the city. You brought me here on a promise of gold and I'm sorry my aunt has been less cooperative than we both expected. But now she's given me that gold to hire security, and I can promise that you'll be paid if you protect the shipment."
Fiora waited to think before responding. It would, in all likelihood, be an easy job. With so many ships trading, the chances of being raided were slim.
"Fine," she said. "Just give me the name of the ship and when it sails."
Thesa sighed, almost with relief, and gave her a rolled parchment. "The Sunken Sow leaves port in two days. It's on the north ports where iron and coal are imported."
She took the parchment and put it in her saddlebag. She bade Thesa farewell and turned to leave the house before being stopped.
"My aunt knows, by the way," Thesa stated quite matter of factly. "I overheard when I stayed in her home. She owns half the city, of course she knows you won't finish the contract on her rival."
"She should be happy then, she can save her gold," Fiora replied.
"You should by now that gold is never the concern, especially when one is willing to pay." Thesa's young voice sounded different with a serious tone. Fiora understood the subtlety of tones. Hers was a warning. "There's little I can do beyond payment to thank you for saving my life. But there is one other thing: search the cargo once you leave port to make sure everything is safe."
Fiora nodded, and left the house without another word. The image of Stranglethorn and her constricting vine flashed in her mind, and it reminded her of why she loved monster hunting. Monsters never scheme or plot or hide secrets. Like hunger and common colds, they were easy to understand. Fiora took a deep breath, feeling the mist in the air from the splashing river nearby.
Geiss practiced her hoof work with three legs, holding one up like she was using a sword. Fiora could tell her hooves were moving in place well, but on the landing they shifted or slid on the uneven and moist topsoil. She smiled and picked up Geiss from behind while she was distracted.
"I was making it right," she protested squeakily.
"There's a berry farm not far from here where any pony can go in and pick as much as they want to buy." Fiora hopped a bit on the stone path away from the workshops, clinking her gold plate around in her saddlebag. "We're going to pick all we can eat, and then I'll show you how to use hoof work on loose dirt."